Sticky Fingers
by whiterobes17
Summary: Piers' thieving skills have seen better days in the face of a peculiar man. thief!Piers AU and hopefully eventual Nivanfield.
1. Chapter 1

**It's been months since I've updated anything. It's been frustrating to try and continue my other stories, but I haven't given up. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this. Please review! I appreciate all feedback. :)**

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Piers liked chilly days.

The cold and snow made people scarce and spared him any unnecessary interaction. He would interact with them in his own way. More specifically, with their wallets.

People were careless coming out of stores on chilly days. They hurried to tuck their cash and valuables in their accessible outside pockets instead of more secure places. He'd always been able to nab something on these kinds of days.

He pulled his dark, tan peacoat tighter around himself and casually leaned against the glass of the store, leering in every so often from underneath his brown ivy cap. A few more minutes passed before he spotted a more than suitable mark; a heavyset man that seemed to be completely unaware of the cashier girl flirting with him. He looked middle aged with his stubble, and just oblivious enough that Piers was certain he could swipe something sweet without being noticed.

Piers watched the silent interaction as the girl blushed, fumbling some of the man's groceries. He waited patiently with his hands in the pockets of his dark wool coat as she bagged the rest.

Piers looked away with an irritable frown and began to tap his foot. Tipping his cap lower to hide his eyes, he prepped the set-up and stood where he knew the man would exit the store.

A few more seconds and a few quick, deliberate strides had him colliding with the bulky man, causing him to drop most of his parcels. Piers stumbled onto his backside on the icy sidewalk, not expecting quite so much recoil. The man was a damn _tank._

Piers grimaced at the pain, rubbing at his face with his hand and quickly righting himself to try and help the man with his parcels. Getting closer was crucial.

"I'm sorry," came a rough, almost authoritative tone. "I didn't see you there." Despite the warmth of his coat, Piers shivered at the intensity of the man's voice.

"Nah! It was my fault. I was rushing. Gotta watch where I'm going," was his too-jovial response.

He began to scrabble around for the groceries on the ground as he neared the now kneeling man. He waited until the man's eyes were occupied with the last few items before slipping his hand in the loose pocket, digits gently lifted smooth leather from the rough wool. He then briskly withdrew his arm, shifting the wallet from one hand to the other behind his back, finally tucking it away in his own back pocket. He masked the movement by patting the man on the shoulder.

"Really sorry about that." He gave a small, apologetic smile as the rest of the items were returned to their bags, and both men stood. He tipped his cap at the older man, careful not to meet the other's eyes.

"Not a problem." The man nodded. "I appreciate the help." He lingered for a few more moments to savor the rumble of the man's voice. He almost felt bad turning on his heel and rushing away.

Piers turned a few corners and retreated down an alley to see just what he'd won. He flipped the wallet open and found absolutely nothing. Piers gave a frustrated grunt at the lame theft. Had he missed where the man had put his cash?

After a few more seconds prying through the various slits in the wallet, Piers discovered a picture tucked away beneath the transparent plastic frame. A cute looking couple, the man he had robbed and a fair haired woman. They looked happy together, but the picture seemed worn, as if it had been withdrawn from its resting place many times. He had been so occupied with the empty wallet that he hadn't noticed the looming shadow behind him.

"What I'd appreciate more is if I could have my wallet back."

Piers spun around to meet a stern expression worn by the man from the store.

"Sorry…? I don't know wh-"

"Cut the crap," the man interrupted. His expression betrayed his polite tone. "The wallet."

Piers was just as startled as when he'd rammed into the guy, and even more intimidated by his towering stance. It wasn't the first time Piers had messed up on a mark. Judging by how the man held _all_ of his groceries with one arm, he didn't seem like he'd stand much of a chance against the guy. He cut his losses and surrendered the wallet.

"Thank you," was his calm response. Piers dared to look at the man in the eyes for the first time. His gaze was soft and his eyes were deceptively blue, and to Piers' surprise, he was at ease with the other man, if only temporarily.

"Sorry," he said with more fervor than he expected. One thing Piers never did was apologize, mainly because he never felt he had any reason to.

The man simply nodded with a small hand gesture. "Come with me."

Piers didn't move, glaring at the man from under his cap. Now the guy was gonna turn him in?

"Come with me and I won't report you," the man offered.

Piers hesitantly followed the man. He didn't know what the hell he was doing, but the fact that he wasn't being turned in or getting the crap kicked out of him came as a pleasant surprise.

They walked a few blocks, not too far from the store where they'd unofficially met. Piers followed him to a stony colored apartment building. The man never looked back to see if he was still following.

Piers considered just running away from the man; he probably could too, but at this point, curiosity got the better of the young thief.

They climbed up to the 4th floor of the building and stopped at what Piers assumed was his apartment. The man took out a pair of keys and for the first time glanced at Piers as if he had just appeared out of thin air. Piers gave an annoyed huff and finally broke the silence.

"Is there a _point_ to this?"

The man's face scrunched up in discontent, as if he was displeased that Piers had spoken at all.

"Inside," was all he said.

Piers gave an exasperated sigh but obliged. He removed his hat, revealing the small spiked tuft of his sandy brown hair. The man closed the door and walked down the wide hallway and led him to the kitchen, from which a sweet smell emanated. The room was square with two entrances, and light filtered in from a window over the sink.

"Sit," he directed, and motioned to the small kitchen table in the middle of the room. Piers sat and watched the man as he began to put the groceries away in the cabinets. He left the room and returned shortly after without his dark wool coat, instead wearing a simple black turtle neck that hugged his torso and arms. The coat, Piers thought, did _not_ do this man's body any justice.

"You want anything?" he finally spoke to the neglected Piers.

Piers bristled. "Yeah, for one, I want to know why I'm here."

"Well that's simple. You're here because you walked here with me," he said with a small chuckle, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

This only further irritated Piers.

"Why did _you_ bring me here?" Piers growled.

"Because we all have a reason," the man said without preamble. He leaned his back and arms on the counter to face Piers. "What's your name?"

"And just what the hell does that mean? What is this? Some kind of intervention? Are you some kind of missionary? You gonna try and _fix_ me, is that it?" The words flew angrily from Piers' mouth.

"It means shut up and answer my question."

Piers scowled at the older man. He was not appreciating this, but he figured the least he could do after robbing the guy was to humor him.

"Piers."

"Chris," the man responded immediately.

Piers gave him a questioning look.

"My name. Now, I'll ask again. Want anything?"

Piers almost rolled his eyes, but decided against it and gave in.

"Fine. You got any coffee?"

"Sure."

After putting a small pot of water up to boil, Chris sat down adjacent to Piers. He stared at Piers for a moment before pulling out the wallet. He flipped it open and pulled out the picture.

"My wife," he murmured as he fingered the fraying edges. "That's my reason. That's why you're here. Now it's your turn. I gave you my reason, now you give me yours. Why did you steal it?"

Piers scoffed.

"Look, it wasn't personal. I just… needed some cash."

Chris gave him a skeptical look.

"Are you homeless or something? You don't really look it."

Piers glared at the man.

"No. I… no."

"Then why did you need cash?" Chris insisted.

Piers opened his mouth and closed it a few times before answering. He looked down at the table and fidgeted with his hat.

"…I don't know. I guess I just got used to stealing. My parents… they weren't around since recently and I had to live with my Gran-gran." Piers paused to look up at Chris; the older man's eyes were unnervingly gentle. Piers' face heated. "We didn't have a lot, so…"

The man looked as if he were going to reach over and take Piers' hand, but instead he stood up and went to turn the heat off and pull out a few mugs.

"I hope instant is okay. It's all we have."

Piers nodded and heaved a sigh of relief when Chris wasn't looking. The man was an incessant starer. He was glad for the break.

As he made the coffee, he kept his back toward Piers. It was almost inaudible until Chris cleared his throat. "…Do you mind if I ask what happened to your parents?"

Piers stiffened. He wasn't used to telling people of the accident a few years ago. He'd never even seen a therapist about it despite his grandmother's requests, but he doubted some shrink could help anyway.

"They died… they died in a car accident on the way to my high school graduation." Piers set his elbows on the table and let his head rest against the back of his hands. He tried to black out the memory of receiving the horrific news after getting his diploma. He tried to not remember how he hadn't cried, hadn't cared.

"I'm sorry." Chris handed him a small mug of the warm beverage and offered a sympathetic grip to his shoulder. Just the touch seemed to revitalize Piers, and he quickly shrugged off the gloomy aura.

"What happened to your wife?" Piers asked flatly, perhaps out of spite, or perhaps out of innocent curiosity.

"Jill?" Chris raised his eyebrows in confusion. "Nothing. She's at home."

Piers gripped the mug tightly. Now he was confused. He hadn't expected a happy ending from the regretful expression he'd seen.

"Oh…" He took a sip from the mug while letting it warm his fingers. "It's just…you looked a little down when you looked at that picture."

"Yeah, well," Chris scoffed, "We're not having the best of times." He got up and bent over the oven to pull out a tray of what looked and smelled to be cranberry muffins.

He eyed the muffins and lifted an eyebrow, waiting for Chris to turn back around.

"You _bake?_" Piers teased.

"_Actually_, it's my sister's stuff," Chris corrected stiffly. "She wanted me to take them out. It's part of the reason I wanted to come back here."

Piers absentmindedly wondered what the other reason could be.

"And so what if I like to bake?" Chris continued with a lighthearted tone. He turned to the sink after clumsily removing the muffins from the tray and setting them in a dish. "Besides, _Gran-gran_?" he half snorted, half chuckled.

Piers blurted out a feeble, "Hey!" in defense. "Don't even."

A slight blush crept over his face behind Chris' back. The teasing felt almost natural, and he finally felt at ease in Chris' presence. The more he thought about it, the more unusual it felt, considering he'd just attempted to rob the man. So Piers made one of the smarter decisions he had that day and decided _not_ to think about it. He liked Chris. It had been some time since he'd actually talked and joked with someone so openly. Maybe years.

"So what's the deal? You're married and you live with your sister?" Piers asked bluntly. The whole 'married' thing had been niggling at him ever since Chris had mentioned it.

"Ah… well…" It was the first time Chris looked uncomfortable the entire conversation. "This is just temporary." He didn't elaborate so Piers pushed on with a humorous smirk.

"Your wife kick you out or something?"

Chris heaved a sigh and looked out the window mournfully. "She probably wants to divorce me… But no, she's not like that. She's sweet; one of a kind, really," he gushed.

Piers frowned.

"I'm just here because it's easier for me this way. My sister is understanding."

"You make this Jill out to be something special. Why isn't it working out?"

Chris shrugged. "Our careers are taking us in different directions." He smiled to himself and shook his head. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this. I haven't even talked to Claire about it."

"Your sister?"

"Yeah. It's kinda easier to tell a stranger about this stuff than your own family, you know?"

Piers gritted his teeth at that. "I'm not a stranger." _Anymore anyway._

And it was true. It was the first time someone had taken an interest in him since high school and Piers would be damned to admit that it felt nice. He wanted to be more than just a stranger to Chris.

"Yeah. I guess you're right," Chris agreed, and for a while, he simply _looked_ at Piers, as if seeing him in a new light.

"Gee, don't sound convinced or anything," Piers joked while awkwardly trying to hide another light blush with the mug.

"I'm really glad you came," Chris said after a beat.

"I'm glad I did too." Piers took another sip from the mug, eyes defiantly darting away from Chris'. "But not for the coffee. It's gross."

Chris laughed wholeheartedly. "You're pretty damn honest for your occupation."

"I'm a lot of things for my occupation." Piers eyes returned, leveling an even gaze on Chris.

"…I'm sure you are," Chris agreed, nodding slowly and beginning to stand. "Listen. I hope after this… it doesn't stay your occupation, y'know? This was never meant to be an intervention. I just wanted to know why you did what you did, and now I do. You're a good kid."

Piers raised his eyebrow for the umpteenth time that day. "What makes you say that?"

"I can see it in your eyes," Chris replied, his tone turning serious again. "Piers, you're welcome here again if you like. Or at least as long as I'm staying here. It'll probably be a while from the way things are going. I'm sure my sister wouldn't mind meeting you either."

"Uh…thanks," Piers mumbled. The offer had caught him off guard, like the rest of the enigma that was Chris. He hadn't expected the man would want to see him again after today. "I appreciate that. And hey, maybe you can give your sister my number. I hope the looks run in the family." Piers smirked into the mug.

Chris chuckled again, slapping a hand on Piers' shoulder and leaning in close to his ear. "Let me think." Chris tapped his chin feigning thoughtfulness. "Ahhh…no. My sister's off limits to cute, thieving guys who aren't exactly strangers anymore." He smiled when Piers reddened at yet another unexpected comment.

Chris began to exit the kitchen and waved a carefree hand over his shoulder as he gestured to the door.

"Let yourself out when you want and don't worry about the lock. Claire'll be back soon enough. I'm beat; gonna take a nap. Nice meeting you, Piers."

Piers gaped as the man began to remove his turtleneck while walking toward what looked to be the living room. All that remained was toned muscle under smooth skin.

"You're taking a nap? Just like that."

Chris shrugged as he sat down on the plump couch.

"What if I decide to loot the apartment?" Piers taunted with another smirk.

He stared back at Piers who was hanging off the edge of the kitchen chair trying to catch a glimpse.

"You won't," was all he said before promptly turning over and dragging a light sheet over himself.

Piers scowled at the dismissive response. "Whatever," he mumbled to himself as he crossed his arms and legs, returning to a more normal position at the table.

Not knowing what to make of Chris, Piers got up and quietly paced around the apartment, looking at older photographs of a redheaded girl and a younger Chris. Probably Claire, he thought.

He felt nervous as more time passed, debating whether to stay and meet Chris' sister or to just leave. Returning to the kitchen, he glanced in on the large, still body of Chris.

Piers moved quietly into the living room. Chris' hulking form on the couch made the entire room seem smaller somehow. He leaned over the sleeping man's shoulder to spy calm features gracing the man's rugged face. Chris stirred and Piers immediately retreated. The last thing he wanted was for Chris to think he was some kind of creepy watch-you-while-you-sleep stalker types. Piers mentally slapped himself on the forehead. As if, after trying to rob him and failing, Chris had a _better_ impression of him?

He looked around and found a pen and notepad on a near table, and scribbled his name and number on a slip. With a devilish smirk, he tapped the pen to his chin. Under his number, he wrote 'Call for a good time' and underneath that, 'Claire can call too'.

Grabbing his cap from the kitchen table, he silently fled from the apartment as if he'd burglarized the place.

Piers held his cap on his head for dear life as flew down the steps three at a time, scarf flailing behind him. He felt like a small child with a huge grin on his face. For the first time in a long time, Piers felt like laughing.


	2. Chapter 2

**I take forever to update. But we knew this, yes? I'm truly sorry... I'd update more but I really only write when it comes to me. I hope you enjoy and review!**

Also, protip: Trying to wash away Nivanfield angst by playing Chris campaign over and over doesn't help.

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In actuality, Piers did have a legitimate occupation. He worked at a small campus deli that catered to students and strangers alike. It was a quaint little spot that he enjoyed.

The manager was a spry old woman who reminded him a lot of his gran-gran. She worked him hard due to the fact that he was the only staff.

Piers hadn't cared though. In his mind, he felt inclined to work hard for his grandmother and as a form of repentance for his other 'occupation'. Working at the deli was how he kept his medium.

Or how he would have kept it had he not tripped over his own feet at the site of a certain peculiar man. Said man came strolling in mid-morning with a complacent look on his face as he witnessed the awkward fumble.

Chris couldn't possibly have looked more out of place walking around the campus grounds, Piers thought. Or maybe he could if he were a really buff professor. Again, not likely.

"Smooth," Chris teased as he neared the younger man, who retreated behind the counter.

"What are you doing here?" Piers hissed almost conspiratorially. It had been four days since they'd met.

"Nice to see you too. Sorry to interrupt your…" Chris gave the empty deli a pitiful glance. "Yeah, I'm not interrupting anything, am I."

"It's never busy this time of day, and you didn't answer my question," Piers said with a petulant scowl.

"I called your number and your grandmother picked up. Sweet lady, by the way. Thought I was your boyfriend."

"Chris." Piers could already feel his blood pressure rise and his face flush.

Chris held up his hands in a placating gesture.

"She told me where you worked. Also…" Chris gave an impish smile. "My sister wanted me out of the house, so here I am. Although… I gotta say, when I heard you had a job, I was surprised that you resorted to pickpocketing," he continued, sounding impressed.

"I'm not a damn klepto, you know. It's… more like a hobby."

Chris stared at him for a moment, dissecting the comment. "It _is,_ or it _was?"_

Piers stared right back. A part of him was getting used to staring at Chris. Neither men seemed to mind.

"Are you gonna stand there and look pretty, or are you gonna buy something?" Piers asked, avoiding the question.

Chris shrugged his shoulders, relenting with the small mock interrogation.

"Fine. I'll take pastrami on rye, toasted." Chris took out the very same wallet Piers had tried to swipe. "And a coffee. Black."

Piers eyed the bills actually being removed from the wallet this time, and inwardly berated himself at the bad habit. He raised an eyebrow and finally smiled. "Beefy sandwich for a beefy man."

"Comes with the territory, _pretty boy_," Chris threw back. Not waiting to see Piers' reaction, he turned around and headed for a table by the window overlooking the campus grounds.

Piers tried his best not to jump over the counter and wipe the smug look he'd seen from Chris' face. Instead, he fired up the griddle and began to slice up fresh pastrami from the display case.

He watched Chris as he brewed coffee and let the pastrami fry.

Chris looked surprised when he brought over the food on a tray, including his change. He nodded gratefully and pushed the change towards Piers.

"Keep it. Not even our first date and you're already cooking for me."

"Don't flatter yourself. I only came over here because watching you stare out the window with that lonely look on your face was depressing," Piers pointed out nonchalantly. He stuck his tongue out as he sat down across from Chris with his own cup of sweetened coffee.

Chris laughed hard. "Is your boss gonna be mad?"

Piers shook his head.

"Nah."

After a beat, Chris dug into his sandwich.

"That was quite a note you left the other day," he said behind a mouthful of grub.

"I knew you'd like it."

Another laugh. "Not exactly what I meant. But Claire thought it was hilarious. Said it reminded her of a friend."

"I guess I did something right that day then."

"That's one way to look at it." Chris smiled and turned as the bell on the door jingled, signaling customers. He almost looked disappointed.

Piers abandoned his cup and stood, heading for the counter. He recognized the faces; a cute blond girl with faint freckles and a surly tall guy who Piers liked to call 'bamboo'. They were regulars this time of day and two of the few people who Piers actually spoke to.

"Hey Sherry. What can a get you today?" Piers offered with a somewhat forced smile.

"I'll just take a coffee." She looked expectantly to Jake.

"What? You know I never buy anything at this craphole."

"Smart move. If you ever do, I'll make sure to spit in your food," Piers said before turning and filling a small paper cup full of the dark, steaming liquid.

Ignoring the comment, Jake looked over to where Chris was still sitting. "Who's the old guy?"

"He's not old," Piers said defensively. "He's a customer. That's all you need to know."

"Well, if he's _here_, than he's probably more than just a customer. We all know you don't get business," Jake sneered playfully.

Sherry gave an exasperated sigh. "We were just leaving." She was dragging Jake to the door, coffee in hand, before Piers could say or do much else.

He returned to his seat across from Chris and took another swig from his own cooled coffee.

"Old friends?" Chris asked sympathetically.

"Not exactly. Just…newer I guess. Sherry's okay, but Jake… the guy comes in here one day telling me how my hair looks like puppy dog hair. So I tell him I feel sorry he looks like a thirty year-old."

Chris raised an eyebrow. "There something wrong with looking thirty?"

"Not really my point... But you saw him. You gotta admit, he doesn't look his age," Piers offered.

"I assume you all go here and that gives me an age range of about twenty."

"They do. I don't. I'm saving up for the tuition though."

Chris nodded thoughtfully.

"That's good. Pretty noble considering your other choice for financial resources," Chris nodded thoughtfully before continuing. "So…you're twenty. That's also good to know."

"You have the dumbest expression on your face right now. And why'd you say it like that?" Piers blurted uncomfortably.

"No reason you need to be worrying about," Chris said with a smug smile.

"How old are you then?" was the only logical question Piers' attention span would allow as he watched Chris lick his lips of pastrami grease.

"Thirty-two."

"Well that's… understandable." Honestly, what else would Piers expect from a married man? A fact which he vehemently reminded himself of every time he found himself staring at the man for too long.

A silence fell on them as one pushed crumbs around a tray, the other fidgeted with a stirring stick.

"Chris, why are you really here?" It had left Piers' mouth without him realizing it.

"What do you mean?" Chris wore an innocent expression. So innocent, Piers might consider it cute in any other situation.

"I know you didn't come here for a tasty lunch. You have a wife, maybe not at home, but somewhere, that you could fix things with and-"

"We're just talking, Piers," Chris interrupted, with an impatient shrug. "Why can't we leave it at that?"

"We can't _just leave at that_, because we're not _just talking_. We're flirting and I need to nip this in the bud. I've already been through enough the past few years and I don't need to add 'flirting with married men' to the list."

Chris was silent for a minute as he stared at Piers with an unreadable expression.

"Then why don't you tell me about it?" he asked in earnest, too compassionately for Piers' comfort.

"Where the hell do I even start?" he scoffed bitterly. The question wasn't directed at Chris, but more at himself.

He could start from the fact that his parents hadn't given a crap about him. They had manipulated him. They had inspired him to fail in his academics for financial benefits. Used him for government aid, and then expected him to pony up to them, as if they'd earned it.

And in a fucked up way, Piers thought, they _had_ earned it. He was just the unfortunate conduit for their machinations.

This was what Piers told Chris. He explained how, when the examiners asked him to identify his parent's bodies, he felt no grief, but a great sense of relief.

The worst of it, he kept to himself. The worst of it was how his parents were revealed to him and exposed for the manipulators they were. The worst of it was the only salvation he thought he had ended up being a sham. The only person he thought he could trust in high school was a fraud. That was not for Chris to hear.

Piers talked, and Chris listened, and when he had finished, they sat in the quiet of the deli. Small automobiles and campus buses strolled by for a long while on the tiny streets before Chris spoke.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just understand what you're doing and why I'm not going to engage," Piers said, more sharply than he would have liked. Though he _had_ engaged Chris' flirting. That was the frustrating part.

"Piers…" Chris paused as he gathered his thoughts. "I wasn't trying to… Listen, I'm sorry. For what you thought I was doing. But I want you to know I enjoy your company. That's all."

Piers was silent for a short time. "Does your wife know about me?"

Chris frowned at the question. "You're making it sound like I'm having an affair with you. Look… this is getting a little weird."

"Says the guy who went to my place and asked where I worked so that he could come visit me. Only as weird as you've made it."

At that, Chris stood up abruptly. There was a heated silence as he glared at Piers. "Y'know what smartass? Forget it. I don't need to deal with this or you. You're right. I've got enough on my plate as it is. I'll see you around, and if I don't, too bad." Chris got up and walked toward the door of the deli, leaving Piers speechless and indignant.

The dismissiveness of his tone irritated Piers, but what irritated him more was his own remarkable ability to screw up whatever good came his way, like whatever it was he had with Chris. He knew he would regret it later on.

He'd regret it more if he didn't try and at least stop the other man. For however short it had been since they'd actually met, they were at _least_ friends.

Piers stood.

"Chris! Wait." He grabbed the sleeve of Chris' coat. Chris turned slightly to face Piers. "Listen, it was a dumb question. I'm… I like you, okay? Maybe I'm making it into something I'm not, but you're the closest thing I've had to a friend or even a functioning relationship since high school-" Piers was babbling. He took a deep breath and started again. "And I don't want it to end this damn quickly." Piers was silent for a moment, not sure what to say, before deciding to admit to Chris what he wanted.

"…Stay?"

Chris stared with a blank expression back at the pleading eyes and slowly faced the younger man completely. He pulled one hand up to rub at the stubble adorning his jaw, and a slow smirk crept up his face. "…Maybe for a free sundae."

Piers sighed with relief. He knew it was Chris' way of defusing the tension, and he more than appreciated it. He found himself heading behind the counter again, tucking a few dollars of his own into the cash register along the way.

"Freeloader," he muttered in mock judgement. "The things I do…" Piers smirked to himself as he added extra caramel sauce to the large sized cup. The bigger the dessert, the longer Chris would have to stay.

When they had settled into a more comfortable silence, Piers' curiosity finally got the best of him.

"So, if we're being fair here, you know what I do now, but I don't really know what you do."

Chris chuckled through a mouthful of caramel. "First of all, is that a question or an observation? Second, who said we were being fair?"

Piers scowled in mock petulance at the unexpected cheekiness. "I guess you'll tell me if you want," he concluded, not wanting to overstep any boundaries. _Again._

"I'm a pilot."

Piers raised his eyebrows. "That's pretty cool."

"It's just small aircraft, really," Chris brushed it off, ever the modest man.

"Aw, c'mon," the younger man offered supportively, "That's gotta be a cool job."

"It has its perks… but it keeps me away from more important stuff." Chris had a faraway look in his eyes as he fiddled with the sundae spoon, dripping melted ice cream on the table.

The young man nodded understandingly. He could already guess how the man's marriage was falling apart. He wouldn't though ask if Chris didn't want to tell.

It seemed like whatever they talked about came back to Chris' marriage.

Piers could see the torn expression on Chris' face, as if the man were debating just what to do about his predicament. He hated seeing Chris like that.

"When was the last time you talked to her?"

Chris snapped out of his thoughts. "What?"

"The last time you talked to Jill."

"Why're you asking me something like that?"

"Because if I had to guess, I'd say you were just sitting around waiting for this to fix itself." Piers wouldn't look him in the eyes as he asked. He hated the whole situation as much as he liked Chris. He hated being _that guy_. The one that sucked it up, and just dealt with it. The one who was unfortunate enough kinda like and give a married guy his time of day.

Chris was silent however, not denying it. Both men stared out the window until their elbows began to ache from being propped up on the table for so long.

"Call her, Chris."

The older man stared uncomfortably at the floor near Piers' boots.

Piers stood to return to the counter and pretend he'd been there all along when a hand grabbed his. He turned to meet a genuine smile on the other man's face.

"Thanks for the lunch, Piers." And for a second, it was all worth it just for that smile, even as his hand was released from the warm, reassuring grasp, even as he watched the dark wool jacket over that broad back head for the door. He could tell the smile was rare, and he could tell Chris was grateful for the advice.

He may as well have said goodbye forever to the man by encouraging him to fix his marriage. Piers kept telling himself he did the right thing as he greeted customers with the same forced smile.

Doing the right thing felt shitty as hell.

Piers would suck it up and deal with it, because that was what he'd been doing his entire life anyway.

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**This month's chapter features FOREVER ALONE Piers! (no but seriously I'll try and update sooner) :|**


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